


Avoir su

by akadiene



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Ambiguously Happy Ending, Angst, Angst angst angst angst, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7835011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akadiene/pseuds/akadiene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Large soy latte with a shot of vanilla, please,” the customer says. </p><p>“Name,” Derek says, voice hoarse. He thinks he’s getting sick.</p><p>“Um. Dex.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_avoir su que nos chemins seraient pour se r’croiser et se r’croiser et se r’croiser / avoir su que j'allais devoir t'imaginer pour te revoir pis m'faire des accroires qu'on s'appartient._

(had i known our paths would cross again and again and again / had i known i’d have to imagine you to see you once more and make myself believe we belong together)

_-[avoir su, lisa leblanc](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ivu1Zdv71qc)_

* * *

 

Derek’s got his head down and his eyes half-closed, trying to stave off sleep, standing behind the counter rocking gently, when the man comes in. He hears the door tinkling in a far-off kind of way and opens his eyes to type in his code on the POS, not bothering to look up. He’s been working for twelve hours, first teaching at the college and then straight here, and his energy is dangerously low. Hasn't had a day off in thirteen days, can't remember the last time he even saw his roommates. He can’t even muster enough to greet whoever just walked in, or even look up.

“Large soy latte with a shot of vanilla, please,” the customer says. Derek types it in and grabs a cup simultaneously -- it’s muscle memory, at this point, just habit.

“Name,” Derek says, voice hoarse. He thinks he’s getting sick.

“Um.” The man laughs quietly, like a puff of air. “Dex.”

Derek’s head jerks up and his eyes widen, and there he is, like a goddamn relic from his past, a ghost, an artefact dug up from his Samwell days with red hair and wide shoulders and as many freckles as he remembers. Maybe more. He feels his jaw drop. He’s wide awake now.

“Uh, hi, Nursey,” Dex says, because Derek can’t quite open his lungs enough to get the air to speak. “Hello?” he repeats. Dex is smiling. Derek is not.

“Dex,” he finally says. He swallows, trying to wet his throat. “What are you doing here.”

Dex looks so close to the same, but bigger, older, with lines around his eyes, a scar on his cheek from an accident that got replayed on ESPN so many times Derek cancelled his subscription to the channel after he was done throwing up in the trash can by his bed. It’s bigger up close, whiter, raised a little. The nausea is still there, though that might be from -- well.

“Um. Getting coffee?” Dex says, like he’s not sure. Derek’s still holding the cup and the sharpie and he’s glad the shop is mostly empty and that Kelsey can take the other register if someone comes in, because he feels winded. Like he fell on his ass and can't take a breath. Like he can’t do anything but stare.

“In the city, I meant,” he says, his tone a touch below impatient. He knows the answer anyway -- Chowder told him -- but it’s like he’s eighteen again, and nineteen, and then twenty, pushing and pushing and knowing when to stop but always stepping over the line, going a bit too far.

Dex frowns, hopping from foot to foot, hands in his pockets. “I got traded. It’s, um, nice to be closer to home. I live a couple blocks away from here, now.”

“How did you know I work here.”

“I didn’t.”

They don’t know anything about each other now. Derek only knows what Chowder and Jack tell him, because they’re the only ones who’ve seen Dex in six years, and even then it’s on the ice, through a mask.

“Figures. Of all the cafés in the city.”

Dex huffs and crosses his arms. His shirt is tight tight tight against his biceps and Derek isn’t looking. He hasn’t looked in six years. “Fuck, man, you haven’t changed,” Dex says. 

“How the fuck would you know if I’ve changed or not?” Derek asks, voice low. There’s a few people in here, working mostly, headphones in, and Kelsey puttering around in the back, so he can’t yell like he wants to. But he really fucking wants to. “You don’t have the right to pass any judgment on me whatsoever,” is what he settles for.

He wants Dex to leave. Wants to want Dex to leave. Mostly he wants to yell and hit and slap like he hasn’t wanted in a long, long time. He thought he’d made his peace -- and he had, possibly -- but apparently peace is never as stable as he’d hoped, and it only takes three minutes to disrupt it.

“When are you off work,” Dex says. 

Derek splutters, laughing in incredulity. This is not how he thought his day was going to go when he woke up this morning. “What? Seriously?” 

“Um. We could, I don’t know, catch up?”

“You want to catch up.”

“Derek--”

“Alright, _William_.” He sets the cup down a bit too hard, the throws the sharpie in it. “Let’s see. God, I really have to go back into my memory for this, wow. Ransom and March broke up, he went to do his med school in U of Ottawa while Holster did journalism at Carleton next door, then they both moved to Kingston so Rans could do orthopedic surgery. He’s done in a year, then he has to do a residency. Holster’s working for some independent channel, doing sports reporting for radio and TV. I think he’s got a girlfriend? They’ve got a dog, anyway. Bitty and Jack got married -- you weren’t there, of course -- just last summer in Georgia, and now they’re trying to adopt a baby. Oh, and speaking of babies, did you hear about Chowder and Farmer’s little girl? I mean, it was in Deadspin, so probably. My goddaughter, actually. Sophie. She’s sweet, turning two next month. She’ll be flower girl in their wedding in the fall. What else? Oh, Shitty’s lawyering it up for some union in Connecticut, and Lardo’s got an art therapy studio, and they live together, but no one’s really sure what’s going on there. So, yeah. Am I missing anyone?”

He sees Kelsey staring at him from the sink, then turns back to Dex, who has his mouth wide and his brows furrowed. 

“Um. What about you.”

“Me!” Derek practically yells, then laughs, edging the hysterical. “I won’t bore you with the details. I’m sure you don’t actually care. You never did.”

Kelsey chooses that moment to walk up and gently lay a hand on Derek’s arm. 

“Derek, everything alright?” she says. 

“Fine,” he says. It’s practically a grunt. He’s seething.

“Um. I’m William Poindexter, hi. I’m a -- Derek and I went to college together.”

“At Columbia?” Kelsey asks slowly. Derek takes a deep breath, suddenly tired. Or -- still tired, but a different kind of exhaustion than before. A heavy kind. The kind that won’t go away for a while. Familiar.

“Um. No? Samwell.”

“Kels, can you get me a large soy latte with a shot of vanilla,” Derek says quietly. He hands her the cup. “Thanks.”

“You went to Columbia?” Dex asks, voice equally soft, like he’s hurt, which is just fucking rich. 

Derek takes a deep breath then closes his eyes. “Dex, you dropped off the face of the earth six years ago and haven’t said a word to any of us since. To me. I thought -- I thought you -- we -- I don’t know. Fuck, Dex.”

Dex looks down at his feet, and nothing’s changed. They still can’t find the words. Maybe there are none. 

“I stopped missing you,” Derek says. It’s a lie, and not even a very good one. But then again, Dex hasn’t seen him in so long, he’s probably forgotten what Derek looks like when he doesn’t tell the truth.

“I,” Dex starts, then stops. “Um. I know it’s not worth much, but I never did.”

“Miss me?”

“Stop.”

“You’re right, then. It’s not worth shit.”

They stare at each other for a beat, Dex’s eyes breathtaking in their familiarity, until Kelsey returns with the latte, forcing Derek to look away.

“Here you go,” she says. “Um. You don’t play hockey, do you?”

Dex startles. “What? Oh. Yeah. For the Islanders as of last week. Avalanche, before.”

“That’s so cool, I knew you looked familiar. My daughter’s nine, she started playing in September. Really likes it.” Kelsey’s smile is wide, easy, but she’s got her hand on the small of Derek’s back, like she’s trying to hold him up. They’re good friends, and he’s lucky. She won’t tell their manager he was yelling at a customer, anyway.

“Do you want--?” Dex says, gesturing at the sharpie on the counter.

“That would be amazing! Here. Her name’s Andrée, yeah, two Es. She’s going to be so happy.”

“Of course,” Dex says, signing a post-it note Kelsey’s found. His tongue is sticking out from his lips a little, like it used to whenever he was fixing Betsy or changing the lightbulbs around the Haus or hosing off the siding or typing out code or touching --

“Thanks so much,” Kelsey says. “Derek never told me he had a friend in the NHL.”

“I have two,” Derek says.

Dex bites his lip, handing back the sharpie and the note without taking his eyes off Derek. “Oh,” he says. Then, again: “Derek...”

“William.”

Kelsey turns away to go clean the espresso machine, and the door rings, signalling someone’s entrance. One of Derek’s regulars, who’ll want a cappuccino and a cranberry scone and will sit for an hour while she reads the newspaper.

“Can I give you my number?” Dex asks. He’s got his coffee in hand now, and is digging money out of his pocket. “Please, Derek. Maybe we could start over.”

“Six years, Dex. Watching your boyfriend ghost you live on ESPN isn’t exactly a happy fun time.” He turns away and Dex steps to the side for the new customer. “Hi, Mrs Nesbitt. Your usual?”

“Please, Derek. Lovely evening,” She pulls out her change purse.

“Yeah, warm for January, isn’t it?”

“Derek,” Dex says. He’s holding out another sticky note, and some money. Too much money, really, but Derek won’t say that.

“I’m working, William,” Derek says. “You always wanted me to get a job. Now I’ve got two. Want some chocolate shavings tonight, Mrs N.?”

“Yes, dear, thank you.”

“Derek, please. You don’t have to call it. Just take it.”

The sound of the steamer echoes around in Derek’s head as he busies himself with the drink. 

“Fine,” he says when he turns back to Dex, as if that’s not what he was going to say all along. As if that’s not what he was hoping for when Dex first walked up to his counter. “I’ll take it.”

Dex’s face breaks out into a smile, and Derek feels like running. The post-it note is pink and Dex’s handwriting is so achingly real and familiar that he almost crumples it up right then and there. He won’t, though. Later he’ll trace his fingers over it and memorize the edges and curves of each letter of the “ _call me anytime. - wp_ ” and each digit and try very hard not to type them into his phone and follow their instructions.

“Call Chowder,” Derek says instead of anything else. He hands off Mrs Nesbitt’s cappuccino and punches in the amount so she can pay with her card. “Remember him? Our best friend?”

“I -- yeah. Okay. Yeah. Will he be mad.”

“Chowder doesn’t get mad.”

“You’ve never played against him,” Dex says, his lips turning up at the corners like it's their own private joke. Derek wants to scream.

“You deserve for him to be mad at you.”

“I know. I -- yeah. I know. Um. I should --”

“-- go. Yeah. You should,” Derek says, turning away to wipe down the steamer. It’s easier if he’s not looking at Dex. He never thought he’d look at Dex again.

“Okay. Okay. Bye. I -- fuck. You know.”

“No, I don’t know. Goodbye, Dex.”

“Bye, Derek.”

When Dex leaves Kelsey asks him if he needs a break and he says yes and he goes into the back room and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted to tumblr where it caused some freaking out. give me a shout at [fatlardo](http://www.fatlardo.tumblr.com)~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops, i had to change the rating from E to M because this boys didn't do what i wanted. what can ya do

_j’ai beau dire avoir su, dans l’fond j’le savais déjà_

(i can say had i known all i want, deep down i already knew)

__-[avoir su, lisa leblanc](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DIvu1Zdv71qc&t=NjNjODBlYTlmZDJiYWE1Yjk1ZWMwYTA2MjUwYzg2ZmI1NDAwNGYzZiwzdHRMUVJLdw%3D%3D)_   
_

* * *

 

“Your boy came by again yesterday,” Kelsey says when Derek’s tying his apron around his waist to get ready for the morning. He kind of wants to pretend he doesn’t know who she’s talking about -- it could be his roommate Jeff, or Bitty who comes by whenever he’s in the city for a Falconer’s game, or any number of men he’s chatted up while behind the counter over the last couple years. But it’s been a week since he’s seen Dex and a week since Kelsey’s been pressing him for details and a week since he’s thought about anything, anyone else. Hasn’t been sleeping very well either, because all it took to reopen a six-year-old wound that never really healed, rip it wide, tear it ragged, was ten minutes, a latte, and a post-it note. **  
**

He should have told Dex not to come back. But -- well. He called and got ESPN re-added to his cable package instead.

“He’s not my boy,” he says.

Kelsey raises an eyebrow at him. “Right. Whoever he is, he gave me this for you.” She holds out a piece of paper and he takes it probably too eagerly. It’s a business card for a restaurant a few blocks over, and on the back there’s today’s date and 7:45. Not in Dex’s handwriting, which is. A relief.

“Christ,” he breathes, staring at it. He’s lucky he has to work for the next eight hours and won’t be able to spend his day obsessing over it.

“You gonna go?” She reaches up to get a bag of coffee beans to grind.

“No,” he says.

“Get the mushroom risotto, it’s good,” she says.

Derek sighs. “Yeah, alright.”

 

* * *

 

Dex is overdressed in a suit that probably costs more than anything he would ever have allowed himself to even consider back at Samwell, and he looks uncomfortable and awkward when Derek sits across from him.

“Shit. I wasn’t actually expecting you to come,” Dex says. His eyes are wide.

“Fucking hello to you too,” Derek says. The two shots of tequila he took before coming warm his cheeks and loosen his limbs and he’s tap-tap-tapping on the table just for something to occupy himself.

“Sorry. Uh, hi. It’s nice to see you again,” Dex says. He looks down then up again, straight into Derek’s eyes. “You don’t know how nice.”

They stare at each other until the waitress comes by to take their drink orders -- water for Dex who’s in the middle of his season and a double rum and coke for Derek, because like hell Derek is paying for this drink and this meal.

He’s aware of Dex’s eyes on him, lingering on the floral sleeve peeking out from under his shirt, taking stock of all the ways he’s changed in the same way Derek had done last week. Derek feels distinctly self-conscious before he can tell himself not to care -- his hair is shaved short now because in the grand Nurse tradition his hairline began receding three years ago, and he wears his beard full these days, maybe to make up for the lack of hair on his head. He still looks good, he knows, not quite as muscular as he used to be, but Dex looks -- even the scar doesn’t detract from how he looks. Fuck. Derek is fucked.

When he gets his drink he does his best not to finish it in one shot, and instead sips gingerly, unsure how to break the silence. He orders the risotto like Kelsey said to and Dex gets a steak. Medium-well. Things haven’t changed that much.

“How have you been,” Dex says so Derek doesn’t have to. He hasn’t stopped looking yet.

Derek fights the urge to snap back something nasty and takes a deep breath. “Fine,” he says. “I teach English as a second language at a community college not far from here.”

“And the coffee shop?”

“Yeah, well. Rent is expensive.”

Dex frowns. “I thought -- huh.”

So Dex hasn’t been following news about the Nurses either. Fair enough.

“You talk to C?” he asks instead of offering details. The story’s all over the internet, anyway, if he really wants to know.

Dex finally looks down. “Yeah. He invited me up to Winnipeg this summer.”

“Told you.”

“Yeah.”

They fall into silence again and it’s heavy, and hard-edged and sharp, like any wrong word could cut and bruise them some more. Derek is so tired.

“What about you,” Derek says.

Dex speaks at the same time. “You deserve an explanation.”

The clink-clink of cutlery and the voices of the other diners roar in Derek’s ears when he sits back and crosses his arms. “Yes,” he says. Because he does.

Dex bites his lip and looks down at his hands, big and square and calloused as they were before. “You’d think I’d have had this figured out. Like, what to say.”

The waitress comes and brings their food before he can go on, and Derek thinks it’s something of a relief, because he too needs to take it slow. Breathe. Gather his energy.

The rice is good, anyway.

“You, um, still a vegetarian?” Dex asks, gesturing to Derek’s plate. Derek just raises an eyebrow. “Right. Fuck. Sorry. Um. Okay. This isn’t like, an excuse or anything, it’s just an explanation, and I don’t expect you to forgive me for it but--”

“William.”

“Right. I guess I was just scared.”

Derek swallows his food loudly. “Scared,” he says. It comes out softer than he’d wanted.

“Yeah. Like, I was this twenty-year-old kid, moving to the other side of the country. I didn’t know anyone. And I got there and, I don’t know, most of the guys were nice but some said some shit, and…” Here Dex lowers his voice and looks around. “Fuck. You know I’m not a first-liner or anything, I benched more than not my first year -- first three years -- and like, it’s not that they didn’t respect me, but. I couldn’t just, like, ask them not to say homophobic crap. It’s the NHL, you know? I got scared that they’d find out. About us. Me. I don’t know.”

“So you thought, what, out of sight, out of mind?” Derek focusses on his food, trying to taste it, trying to quell the nausea bubbling in his stomach every time he looks at Dex’s face. He blames it on the scar and the booze.

Dex closes his eyes. “I didn’t say it was a good decision. And it never -- you didn’t stay out of my mind.”

“No. Just your life.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve regretted it every day since, I fucking swear.”

Derek signals to the waitress for another drink, even though his hands are starting to feel weird and tingly like they always do when he’s drunk. “Parse came out, like, four years ago,” he says once she’s delivered it and they’ve sat in silence for a few minutes. “And then Jack, and then that guy from the Aeros, what’s his name?”

Dex clenches his jaw and looks down. Opens his mouth for a second before speaking. “Samson.” His voice is quiet, barely audible over the hum of the restaurant.

“Right, okay. Cool. That’s -- every day, huh? Good to fucking know.” Shaking his head, Derek takes a too-big gulp of his drink, feels it burn on the way down. He kind of feels like laughing at this whole damn situation. Remembers that time he and Dex took Dex’s piece-of-shit pick-up truck out to the woods on the outskirts of town with the plan to get high and camp out in the box all-night, until it started hailing and they had to grab everything and get back in the truck and leave. They lost a pillow to the storm, then went to get greasy pizza at a crappy 24-hour hole because they forgot to get munchies, and were still laughing so hard when they got back to the Haus it took them 15 minutes just to get undressed. Derek blew raspberries against Dex’s thighs before sucking him down and they fell asleep the wrong way up on the bed. Woke up early to pancakes Chowder and Farmer made, then went to practice. Fucking happy.

“I’m sorry.”

“You said.”

“I got help,” Dex says.

Derek’s head jerks up. “What?”

“Last year, after, um, Samson did his press conference -- I started seeing someone. Like, a psychologist. ‘Cause I was angry a lot, you know?”

Derek snorts. “Yeah, I fucking know.”

“Yeah. Right, sorry. I wasn’t doing well, anyway. And Jack gave this interview around that time, about how he sees a therapist and takes medication and how all this internalized homophobia and the media and shit contributed to his anxiety for a long time, so I thought what the hell, right? I’ve got nothing to lose. I was so unhappy.”

“Why are you telling me all this,” Derek says, once Dex has taken a breath. “We don’t know each other anymore.”

Which is like -- fucking harsh, he knows. But it’s easier like this, probably. Maybe. It goddamn hurts to say -- but.

“Yeah, I know,” Dex says, fanning out his hands. His eyes are wide and earnest. “I know. I just -- I’m trying to be honest. Okay? I wasn’t well for a long time, since even before Samwell, and before the Avs, and I’m still not 100%, but I’m getting there. I had an appointment with a new therapist today. So, like, cards on the table, I know you probably don’t want anything to do with me after this, which is fine, but if you do, then know that I’m trying to be better.”

Derek finally gives up on his plate of half-eaten food and just settles with finishing his drink. “You’re different now.”

Dex huffs. “Well, aren’t you? It’s been a while.”

Suddenly Derek can’t be here anymore. It has been a while. What the fuck is he doing? He told himself he wasn’t even going to come, that he was going to throw out the post-it note with Dex’s number on it, that he wasn’t going to watch the highlights from his first game. He told himself he was done years ago. He pushes away from the table with a clatter.

“Bathroom,” he bites out, then practically runs to it, desperate for some fucking space. It’s empty, thank God, so he slams into a stall and sinks down on top of the toilet seat, head in shaking hands, breathing deep.

God. Why did he think he could handle this? It’s like he’s nineteen years old and pining again, wanting to touch Dex but not yet understanding why his hands stretch out when he’s near him. Waiting for a sign, anything that says you’re doing alright, Derek, keep going. Except Dex is older and bigger and more mature and softer-spoken and just fucking gorgeous and this time the puck’s on Derek’s side, possibly, if he’s understood correctly. For an English teacher, he does that a lot, misreading situations.

He doesn’t realize how long he’s been sitting there, trying to calm his heart, when he hears the door swing opened followed by “Nursey?” so maybe Dex hasn’t changed that much after all, and knows just how to push Derek until he snaps.

“You alright?” Dex asks. His feet appear below Derek’s stall door. “Nursey. If you want me to go pay and leave you alone, you just gotta let me know.”

Derek decides to shoot on net.

In an instant he’s got the stall door open and he pulls Dex in by his lapel, and Dex’s reflexes must have gotten better because he doesn’t hesitate a second before crashing in Derek with his mouth, hot and wet and so fucking good Derek thinks he might be dreaming.

Actually, he has dreamed about this, and it’s better in real life. Better than he remembered, even. He was afraid before that he’d been building it all up in his head for six years but -- Dex’s weight is heavy against him and mouth finds the exact spot under Derek’s ear that no one’s been able to find since the last time. They’re panting, hands everywhere, and this is everything, everything Derek’s ever wanted but tried so hard to forget. His heart feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest onto the bathroom tiles.

“Remember that time -- mm -- we went to that volleyball party --” he pants into Dex’s ear, grabbing his ass and pulling him close.

“Couldn’t keep our hands off each other,” Dex whispers. “Got you off in that pantry.”

“Hit into that shelf --”

“-- April walked in on us -- “

“-- got flour everywhere -- “

“-- made us clean it -- oh!”

Derek’s has gotten his hand in Dex’s pants, going straight for his dick, hard and weighty and hot in his hand and good despite the angle, like he’s in a trance. Unaware of anything but this. This smell -- different, but he could get used to it -- this taste -- the same, he had almost forgotten it -- this feeling -- half-new half-familiar, he could live in it.

Until the bathroom door opens again and a deep voice swears before the door sounds again, steps retreating, and it pulls Derek out of his twilight so fast he stumbles against the toilet and falls onto it. Dex braces himself against the wall, his dick fucking sticking out, breathing hard and staring down at Derek, who’s shaking again.

“Shit,” Dex says. “Shit.” He rubs a hand over his face before tucking himself back in and zipping up, readjusting so it’s not as uncomfortable. “I can’t -- fuck. That could have been anyone. Can we --”

“You’re still scared,” Derek says. His voice is rough and raw because he’s got a lump in his throat the size of Dex’s fist and he’s still fucking turned on, because Dex is so close, his suit rumpled and his hair wild and his cheeks red red red.

Dex closes his eyes. “Not of this. Not of you. But I just -- it’s a new team. I can’t, not yet.”

“Yeah,” Derek breathes. “Yeah. I get it.” Wills himself to think of gross things -- the subway, the Haus’ green couch, a thousand roaches, that thing his roommate left in a tupperware in the back of the fridge neither of them have had the balls to clean out yet.

“We should --”

“Yeah.”

Derek goes first, sits at the table alone and catches his breath, tells the waitress everything is fine and could they have the check, thank you. Dex comes back while she’s bringing it and hands her his credit card, his hair wet around the edges like he splashed water on his face.

“I don’t really get recognized a lot,” he says quietly to Derek, carefully. “Especially not here.”

“Andrée loved your autograph. She brought it to school for show and tell.”

“Really? I’m glad.”

The waitress brings their receipt and Dex’s credit card and he scribbles in the amount for a tip on the slip, which Derek knows is higher than necessary because Dex has always tipped well.

“Do you want to come back to my apartment,” Dex says. Careful.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh. Uh, why not?”

Derek shakes his head. “I need -- time. Fuck, man, you just barge into my life like you never left and you disrupt it like this, expect me to fall right back in love. It’s not fucking fair, Dex. It’s not.”

“You were in love with me?” Dex asks.

“That’s not the point! I’ve got a life. What if I had someone already?”

“Shit. Do you?”

“No, but --”

Dex grips the table cloth. “I never asked you to fall in love with me again. I just want -- I just want a chance.”

“In secret.”

Their eyes meet and Dex’s hold a fire Derek hadn’t known was missing. It’s thrilling. “You can’t ask me to come out before I’m ready, because I won’t. This isn’t like coming out to the Samwell team, this is -- Sonny sometimes needs a security detail in Houston now, you know. Besides, Bitty and Jack hid it for like, five years. It’s not impossible.”

“Well, you can’t compare us to Bitty and Jack.” Derek sighs. “Shit. Okay.”

“What? Okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll -- give you a chance, or whatever.”

“You sound like you’re going to say that it’s chill.”

Derek almost laughs -- instead he lets the corners of his mouth lift up indulgently. Dex’s answering smile is goddamn radiant. “Let’s just, like, get to know each other again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Derek, I’ll be ready eventually. I think.”

Derek nods. “I know. I won’t rush you, I won’t.”

Dex stands, because they’ve been sitting at the table for longer than they should have been since paying, and grins widely.

“Alright,” Dex says, holding out his hand for Derek to clasp. “Hi, I’m William. Can I walk you to your door?”

Derek takes Dex’s hand.

“Yeah," he says. "I guess you can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this was a rollercoaster from start to finish!!! follow me on tumblr [ @fatlardo ](http://www.fatlardo.tumblr.com)


End file.
